Somebody That I Used to Know

by Bunkie King

  From then on ‘parking’ becomes a regular occurrence. One day after making out passionately, he states, ‘Never let any man go as far as I have, will you.’

  I am surprised. What a strange thing to say. Why on earth would he say that? I love him, why would I do this with another man? I believe with all my heart that our blossoming love is the ‘real deal’. It is pure and true.

  Because it’s more fun being at their house than on my own or with Mother, I spend more and more time at Jack and Le’s. The double-storey terrace is decorated in customary hippie style with brightly coloured posters covering the walls and Indian fabrics thrown over the furniture. Burning incense creates an exotic, almost spiritual atmosphere. There are often friends of Jack, Le or the other tenants visiting. I sit on the floor and watch as Jack rolls joints, inhales with gusto then passes them on to the next person while exhaling huge lungfuls of smoke. I pay close attention to what effect the drug has and observe his body relax as he reclines back into his black leather armchair. He drifts off while listening to the pulsating, emotive sounds of the late ’60s.

  One day I tentatively take a puff and hold it in for as long as possible. Even though I have never smoked cigarettes I try to look as if I know what I’m doing. A tingling sensation floods my body and soon after, a sense of relaxation, a feeling that everything is all right. And that I’m all right. On the coffee table are rainbow coloured see-through prisms, pyramids and different-sized kaleidoscopes. These playthings enhance the trippy experience of being stoned. I share the spontaneous laughter that erupts in response to the silliness of people’s behaviour and the stories they tell. Marijuana helps me feel like I belong. And it bonds me with Jack. This matters a great deal to me.

  Sharing a joint with the friends who gravitate to their house makes me feel more grown up. It’s exciting to do something forbidden and associates us with an underground movement that is sweeping the western world. It becomes my introduction to New Age culture; teachings that harmonise perfectly with the beliefs my mother shared with us as children about the Oneness of all beings, and connects me to the force of universal wisdom.

  There is new music, new ideas and new fashions. The bonds of society’s accepted norms are cracking. Exotic clothing stores smelling of incense and patchouli oil are popping up everywhere. Yellow-robed Hare Krishna devotees are ringing their bells, singing and dancing through the streets of downtown Sydney. Music plays a big part in the spirit of the time. I often visit when Le isn’t at home and, if Jack is there, I sit on his lap in his big leather armchair just being close and feeling each other’s warmth. I feel our energies entwine as we listen to his records, like Iron Butterfly’s In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida and Led Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love. Jack discourses on how music has the power to sway a person’s emotions and feelings. I love Jimi Hendrix; I think he is the coolest guitar player ever and Jack explains how Jimi plays the guitar as an extension of his very being. He knows a lot about so many different subjects.

  Smoking dope makes me feel hip and helps me cope with being an outsider at school with no real friends. I sometimes smoke a joint before Mother comes back from work. Mellowed out, I lie on my bed, lost in reverie. Returning from a long day at work she doesn’t seem to notice that I am out of it and more than usually non-communicative. On Sports Day when we have to play squash up at the local sports centre I take a joint and smoke it with the other girls who share my lack of interest in sport.

  Le works shifts at the restaurant, sometimes from 2 p.m. until midnight, which gives me the opportunity to spend time alone with Jack. One night he and I are kissing and cuddling in their bedroom when Le bursts in the door and starts yelling, ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  He jumps up off the bed and tries to calm her down. All I hear is Jack saying, ‘Wait a minute, wait a minute …’ while I bolt out of the room, down the stairs, through the front door and out into the street. I hardly draw breath until I make it safely back to Mother’s.

  I feel guilty. I know there’s something wrong with what we’ve been doing. He’s obviously Le’s boyfriend and I feel bad for her, but I desperately need someone to love and be loved by. I have four beautiful sisters and there’s a rule in our family: ‘Don’t steal another sister’s boyfriend’, but initially I was not aware that Jack was interested in Le and now I have fallen deeply in love with him. I don’t know how to give him up and just walk away.

  The next day Jack and Le come over to discuss ‘the situation’; they both look exhausted as if they’ve been up all night. It’s a hot day so we go outside and sit in the shade on the grass under the clothesline. I sit looking at the ground, scared of upsetting Le. I don’t understand my emotions or the situation. I don’t know how to talk to Le or Jack about my feelings.

  Jack suggests the possibility of a relationship that encom­passes the three of us. He says we can make it work because others have; it’s about having love and understanding, being honest and open with each other and giving it a go. ‘We’ve found ourselves in this predicament, and the fact is I love you both.’

  Le, at 20, is faced with some clear but tough choices. The most obvious is to discuss the situation with me, her little sister who is involved in a love affair with a much older man. Le could even share how strong her feelings are for Jack. Blood is supposed to be thicker than water. We could talk and probably fight about the two of us being in love with the same man. That might bring us closer as sisters and open the pathways to communication and honest interaction.

  Another choice could be to give Jack an ultimatum: ‘It’s either her or me. I will not put up with partnering a man who wants to have someone else in the relationship.’

  Or she could declare, ‘My sister loves you. I am not going to come between my sister and the man she loves.’

  While she may well have considered these options, her body language speaks of fatigue and resignation. The conversation goes on for a couple of hours; Jack does most of the talking. In the end we are all emotionally drained. But a deal has been struck. If Le wants to keep Jack, she has to accept me into their relationship. But she makes it clear that Jack and I are not to be lovers.

  I don’t really feel I can tell Jack, No, it’s either her or me! I can’t bear the thought of losing him and so accept whatever arrangement is offered. While he has the comfort of knowing that the two of us love him and are prepared to compromise as we are willing to share him, I have no such security and reassurance. I do feel a small sense of relief, though, that at least now my love for Jack has been acknowledged and secretly harbour the hope that Le will eventually get sick of this situation and go off with another of her boyfriends.

  Despite her earlier objection, within a few weeks Jack manages to convince her to allow him and me to spend a night together. I am already on the Pill. I’ve seen a doctor who was enlightened enough to reason that if I was going to be sexually active then it was in my best interests to be using contraceptives. Being young and slightly built I react to the strong dose and vomit a lot. But with all the romantic messages in books, movies and music I have received up until this stage, I’m sure it’s worth it.

  In my family, the idea that sex is taboo was never conveyed to us; on the contrary, we were taught that sex was a wonderful, special thing you do with the one you love. The loss of my virginity would be the culmination of my dreams, the most wonderful thing to ever happen to me. I have waited all eternity for us to be together, body and soul.

  We end up spending our first night together at a cottage belonging to a friend of Jack’s on Scotland Island at Pittwater, north of Sydney. It is sunset when we take the ferry across to the island and almost dark by the time we arrive at the beautiful wooden cabin on a hill. It is the ultimate romantic hideaway, but once inside I feel nervous and awkward. I wander around the living room engrossed in the Asian art that fills the walls and admire the view through the big picture windows overlooking the water. Jack has made an effort to find the right venue; however, that is where the fantasy ends. There
is no cuddling on the couch with him telling me how much he loves me. There are no tender kisses or the kind of caressing that was there during our courting sessions, nor is there a romantic candlelit dinner. In fact, we don’t eat at all before he undresses and climbs into bed.

  I maintain my composure despite this lack of intimacy. It’s important for me to always appear to be serene, thoughtful and in control emotionally. My adolescent fantasies run wild as I undress and slip between the sheets. I am about to be engulfed by the physical and emotional passion of sharing myself with the man I love. But there is no acknowledgement of this gift we are about to share, no gentle caresses or soft words of love. It is all over fairly quickly; he turns away from me and is asleep within minutes. I don’t feel relaxed and loved or anything like that, there is no euphoria or warm physical oneness. I don’t even feel that I am now a cared-for partner. I feel more like it was all something that just sort of happened but wasn’t really that important.

  Feeling dejected and alone, I lie awake for most of the night as Jack sleeps beside me. My expectations of making love for the first time are shattered. I had anticipated an earth-shaking, mind-blowing, spiritually enriching experience. I had fantasised that afterwards we would be overflowing with emotional warmth and fall asleep in each other’s arms, our bodies tingling with pleasurable sensations. Isn’t that what we came here for? Isn’t that what all the emotional dramas have been for? Beside me lies the first man I have loved, and he says he loves me. He is the first person in my life to give me the impression that I am loved, to indicate that I was someone he wanted, that I was special to him. I crave his attention yet there is no talking or sharing of feelings, no warm human body with a spirit that needs nurturing and no nurturing of my sensitive blossoming spirit. That was what I thought the whole deal was with soul partners. You don’t even need to have sex at all; it’s the whole spiritual thing!

  Confused by the lack of closeness and love, I reason it must be my inexperience. Perhaps he doesn’t want to overwhelm me on my first time. Being young and in love I resolve to accept him with or without intimacy and affection. Jack says he wants to be with me and that feeling of being wanted is so intoxicating that everything else pales in comparison. I hope things will improve and still believe he is the man for me.

  A few days after our return from Scotland Island he asks me, ‘Well, do you feel any different?’

  I answer proudly, ‘I do actually. Now I’m a woman!’

  Le never says anything or shows any reaction to having her boyfriend sleep with her younger sister. I have no idea what discussion might have taken place between them afterwards — possibly none. I continue to visit their home on a regular basis and Jack continues to pick me up on his motorbike. A new phase of my life is beginning as other things are coming to an end.

  Chapter 5

  Stranger in a strange land

  At the end of the ’60s, Australian society is opening up to new philosophies and practices. Jack fully embraces the changing times, breaking conventions, pushing boundaries, embracing all kinds of opportunities. Coming from a bohemian family background and mixing with actors and poets from a young age, he experiments with an entirely new way of living, as do others. Perhaps he is attracted to me because of my freshness; I am like a blank screen waiting to be filled.

  As a child, reading was my way of escaping from the confusion of my parents’ divorce and the complete disinte­gration of our eight-member family over a three-year period. Jack feeds my mind and I devour every discussion, movie, statement and book like a sponge. Robert Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land has a huge impact on my perception of how life could be lived, posing revolutionary questions about personal liberty. Heinlein challenges conventional morality with the argument that authoritarian forces undermine an individual’s moral judgement. His view is that freedom is really about being able to do whatever you want, as long as you’re not hurting anybody else. The main character, Smith, founds a religious movement that blends many mystical and metaphysical concepts. Included in these are polyamorous family structures and social libertarianism. Heinlein’s 1961 book became the bible for the counter culture, a playbook for the hippie movement.

  As a teenager, just starting to comprehend life and my part in it, Stranger in a Strange Land makes a deep impression. One of its phrases that comes into common usage is, I am but an egg. This implies, I am a lowly novice, barely able to ‘grok’ the concepts in question. ‘Grok’ means to empathise with something or someone to such an extent that you absorb it so it becomes a part of you. In conversation I use the word often; its meaning reverberates to my very core. It affects the way I approach being in the three-way relationship and means I don’t question Jack’s proposition. While I desperately need to feel wanted, I might have been a bit more sceptical towards being in a three-way relationship if I hadn’t so completely taken on board the whole Heinlein philosophy.

  Over the next year I become Jack’s novice. I appreciate being treated as someone with a mind who understands the philosophies and concepts he introduces me to through books, films and music. And he seems to take pleasure in educating me. This continues to develop my sense of self from a naive, lonesome, little girl playing at princesses and wood nymphs to what I believe is a strong, independent freethinker. My horizons are constantly expanding as he shares his interests and philosophies. However, the lifestyle I am establishing with Jack means I don’t do well academically. In my final exams I get a couple of Bs and even fail one subject.

  At the same time Mother has an epiphany about her promiscuity. After years of reckless sexual dalliances she awakens one day appalled at her own behaviour. Brought up with a firm base of spiritual principles, she feels an urgent need for cleansing and stands under the shower for hours while compulsively washing her body. She tells us she literally ‘heard the dross’ falling onto the ground. Perhaps as an attempt to escape from these feelings of guilt, she decides to sell up and move back to England, having nostalgic memories of her teenage years in London between the wars. Or possibly as a way of coping with her embarrassment, she chooses to begin the process of starting a new phase in her life.

  Her decision to move coincides with her discovery of the marijuana plants I am growing in the back garden. I come home from school one day to find that she has removed them.

  I shout out to her in the kitchen, ‘No! Why did you pull my plants out?’

  She is annoyed and, through the screen door, she yells back at me, ‘You won’t grow dope in my backyard!’

  Mother announces that I am going with her to England to attend boarding school until I have finished my education. Horrified, I realise this is her way of trying to rectify her previously deficient parenting. Her plan is to isolate me in a boarding school in a foreign country. Great! As I have already dealt with six new schools in the course of my education, this is the last thing I need. And then, there is the painful thought of leaving Jack.

  In anticipation of her departure for England, Mother sells the house in Waverton and we move into a rented flat in Mosman until I finish the school year. I am anxious about being too far away from Jack, but he continues to pick me up from school on his motorbike about three times a week to take me home. One afternoon I hear Mother’s car pull into the car park below the window of our first-floor flat. We jump off the bed and straighten our clothing. By the time she walks in the door I am making coffee while Jack sits modestly on the couch. Mother greets him without her usual enthusiasm.

  Mother never actually speaks with me about my relationship with Jack. I have no idea whether Le has spoken to her, either.

  Her plan to take me to England in January is never going to work. There’s no way I’m going to leave the love of my life. I stand my ground for the first time ever with her and declare, ‘You’ll have to get the police to drag me onto that boat!’

  After many quarrels Mother accepts her authority over me has ended. But before she can leave the country she needs to transfer legal guardianship o
ver to my father. Unfortunately, this proves to be contentious. His new wife Barbara doesn’t want anything to do with his children, especially if it means taking on legal responsibility. I have seen so little of him in the last six years that he is now virtually a stranger. I visit them when they’re debating whether or not to accept my guardianship and try to reassure them that it’s only a formality.

  Barbara voices her concern, ‘But what if you end up on our doorstep?’

  Full of teenage bravado I reply, ‘That’s not going to happen. I’m going to get on with the rest of my life. I’ll be working. I’ll be doing my own thing. I won’t be knocking on your door, homeless and broke. You don’t have to worry about that.’

  Barbara says smugly, ‘Yes, well, we’ll probably have to help you with LSD.’

  I immediately get paranoid, ‘Oh no, there’s no drugs involved.’

  I have never taken LSD, but am smoking marijuana and know about hallucinogens. This is the ’60s, the era of psychedelics, Timothy Leary, the Beatles’ song ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’. I know about LSD — but don’t realise it is also the acronym for pounds, shillings and pence (£sd). Her worry is that I might become a financial burden on them. I assure them that they would be the last people on earth to whom I’d go for help. Somehow I manage to allay their fears and they sign the guardianship papers. This empty gesture ensures I can stay in Australia but cements the dissolution of any future relationship with my father.

  ***

  For my sixteenth birthday, in October 1970, Jack gives me a Scandinavian-designed silver chain necklace with a heart-shaped pendant. Three circles are cut out and hang on links in the holes. Wearing this beautiful piece of art makes me feel special but I can’t deny it symbolises the three-way relationship in which we’re entangled.